Another Time
by sherlockian4evr
Summary: It's late the night of John and Mary's wedding. When Greg gets home, he finds a ghostly figure waiting on him in the shadows. Sherlock leans on him to get through the night.


Sherlock sits in the dark, leant up against a wall next to the door of a building. There are no lights on inside. No one is home. He needs someone to be home.

John and Mary are married now and the detective has left the after party early. He feels hollow. He should be happy, shouldn't he? John is happy. Mary is happy. There is a child on the way.

Sherlock is not happy. He is desolate. He hasn't felt like this since just after his return when John rejected him. No, he feels worse than that.

He hugs his knees to his chest and refuses to cry. He sits like that for hours, the chill creeping into his bones. Sherlock's not aware of the tears that stain his cheeks

He needs relief. He craves the release that a needle would give as it slips into his vein. He's so close to giving in.

Greg arrives home. He sees the huddled shadow that is the detective. His heart drops, and he berates himself. When he noticed Sherlock had left the party, he should have know something was wrong, but he had thought it was simply Sherlock being Sherlock. He feels guilty. He feels so incredibly sad for his friend. He offers Sherlock his hand. "Come on, up with you."

The detective turns a tear-streaked face up to him, though his face is blank. He takes the offered hand and lets Lestrade help him up. Without words, he follows the DI into his home where he stands there like a ghost, unmoving.

Greg sighs. Even through the gloves, Sherlock's hand had been cold. He's obviously chilled through. "Have a seat. I'll make tea."

The detective moves to the sofa where he curls up into a ball, his head on the armrest. He's so miserable that he doesn't register he's shivering from the chill that has soaked into him.

Lestrade brings tea over and tries to hand it to his friend, but Sherlock doesn't reach for it. "Take it, son," Greg tells him.

Reluctantly, the detective sits up and accepts the mug of tea. It feels warm through his gloves. He looks at the surface of the liquid. Even that hurts. He misses the tea that John makes. One stray tear drops from his cheek into the tea, disrupting the surface.

Lestrade sits down on the coffee table. He's unsure what to say. He remembers his friend's best man's speech and how Sherlock had declared his love for John. Remembering it makes his heart break for the detective. He knows Sherlock loves John as so much more than a friend… perhaps too much. Greg hates that his friend is suffering.

"I'm not going to offer you meaningless platitudes," the DI says. "But I will be here for you. Whatever you need."

Sherlock nods, grateful not to have to suffer through a speech about how things will get better with time. He needs to wallow in the loss if what might have been between himself and John, at least for one night. Tomorrow he will put on his mask and face the world as if everything is fine. He utters a husky, "Thank you."

It's obvious that the detective won't budge from the sofa, so Lestrade goes and fetches a couple of pillows and blankets. He hands one of each to the younger man, taking the others with him as he settles into a chair. He isn't going to leave his friend alone. He is grateful Sherlock has come to him, but he doesn't trust him not to do a runner.

Sherlock doesn't comment. He knows what Greg is doing. He also knows that the DI has the right of it. He can't make it through the night on his own.

Lestrade falls to sleep first, snoring softly. The sound is oddly comforting. Sherlock stares ahead long into the morning hours. Ge feels as if part of himself has been ripped away. There is a phantom pain where John used to be. He knows that's ridiculous. John is still alive, alive and happy. It still hurts.

Eventually, Sherlock falls asleep. His dreams are troubled and Greg wakes to the sound of his friend crying out. He shakes him awake. "It was just a dream," he says firmly.

The detective meets Lestrade's gaze, the dream still haunting him. "John died," is all he can manage.

"Oh, Sherlock." The DI knows that had been his friend's greatest fear whilst he had been away, dismantling Moriarty's network. He remembers how fragile Sherlock had been upon his return, how he had talked to John even when he wasn't there. He wonders if that is going to start again. He hopes not.

Abruptly, Sherlock stands. "I have to go."

"Wait…" Greg starts, but his friend is already at the door, opening it.

Sherlock pauses. "What?"

Lestrade doesn't want the detective to leave yet, but he knows he can't stop him. "What I said earlier, I meant it. I'm here for you."

Without looking back, Sherlock nods. "I know." He goes through the door and shuts it.

Greg can only hope his friend will be okay. He pledges to himself to help him in any way he can. He'll find him a case, a dozen cases, if it will keep Sherlock occupied. He wishes he could do more.


End file.
